


darkness so thick that if you touched it, it would touch you back

by Louchie



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Chess Metaphors, Gen, Mind Manipulation, No Plot/Plotless, The Throne Room
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:28:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22822552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louchie/pseuds/Louchie
Summary: The Constant is a game of chess.The King has always been the weakest peace, and a pawn can always defeat the king.But no matter what piece you are, the board is a prison, and you are inside.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	darkness so thick that if you touched it, it would touch you back

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OodleMcDoodle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OodleMcDoodle/gifts).



> No clue what this is, this is my first ds work im publishing so enjoy :D

The throne room is cold. 

Light hasn't touched this chilled, dreary plane since well before the King's reign began.

There hasn't been warmth since well before They brought the King here to this world.

They have long since leeched the life and warmth away from this long forsaken place. Leaving nothing but the chill and the cold. 

He had been bothered by the cold at first, but like everything else, he had grown numb to it.

  
  


The throne room is dark.

The shadows coil and murmer through this space like worms writhing in their soil. 

There is no light here, Nothing to bring it. 

Only Them and their chilled whispers.

Only Them and the darkness so thick you can feel it brush against you. The darkness so thick that if you touched it, it would touch you back.

He had minded the dark at some point, a very, very long time ago. 

But that, along with so many other things, had died with William Carter.

  
  


The throne room is suffocating.

The air sits heavily, without even the slightest breeze, the barest wind. 

Thick and suffocating, like the old, stale oxygen in the ancient caves.

The same air cycling through his lungs. Time and time again. That is, if he somehow remembers to breathe.

Unfathomably old, but reused again and again.

The same could be said about much of this world. Stitched together in a patchwork of patternless islands. The wreckage of a long dead empire, consumed by their hubris, and ill-adviced decision to feed Them.

  
  


The throne room is anything but empty.

They are there. Sitting. Watching. Lurking. 

Manipulating.

Smiling out from their inky darkness at the king they hold so tightly.

  
  


(With the Queen sitting among them. The snarling, ravenous thing sweet Charlie had become is nigh unrecognizable these days.)

They flip through his mind like the pages of a well worn book, scribbling notes in the margins of his consiousness.

Rending through sane thought and conscience. Shredding the guilt and whatever remained of his fear. 

They sit. They tear. They manipulate.

The King has always been the weakest piece on the board. Manipulated by the opposing forces until he's forced into a corner. Trapped with no escape. 

The king once fought Them, but like everything in this world, time tears it apart. And when William Carter finally died, Maxwell stood in place. Perfectly crafted for Their purpose. Perfectly sculpted into a ruthless king. 

All that remained of William was the nagging thoughts of dear, sweet Charlie, but well, not every job needs to be perfect. 

  
  


The throne room is anything but silent.

They whisper, They chatter, They laugh and They laugh.

They offer your greatest wishes, They offer dazzling knowledge, unending riches, all the love you could ever desire, the power to rule the world, being reunited with someone you love.

They make an offer you can't refuse, but They never tell you enough.

They don't tell you what you'll be learning. They don't tell you where the riches come from. They never tell you who's love you'll be getting. They never tell you what world. They never tell you how you'll be reunited.

They manipulate and They laugh, They wind you up in Their strings and dance you around like a puppet to Their whims.

A pawn can always defeat the king, and the queen can always flee. 

But the hand who moves the piece is the true puppet master, and being on the board is a trap, no matter what piece you are.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comment :D


End file.
